Ode to a Winning Squash Ball

Well see here, my black rubber friend with two dots that stare like eyes!

I must say I'm quite fond of you for today's squash match surprise.

See, I played a level up today—not hoping much to win—

Against a very tough player with great court movement, good spin.

But at the loud clang of the tin at the close of the first game,

Behold! I had eked out a win, a faint echo of some fame. 

At the break my sweat-drenched opponent I could see was bone-tired.

But my winning of game 1 was so sweet I became up-fired!

He's drinking water from the fountain like a dog at his bowl.

All that running the diagonal will surely take its toll.

As the second game begins I feel cautiously elated,

And as it unfolds my opponent's more and more deflated.

I hold my shots so brilliantly, my footwork, ahhh, superb.

I feign shots leftward, hold, then shoot to the right, which helps perturb

My weakened opponent, who has taken to heavy sighing,

A reflection of the fact that on court the sucker's dying. 

Another game for me, and he's off court slurping like a fool.

A mess of gasping breath, twitching muscles, rivulets of drool.

Game 3 starts, and my opponent starts mouthing his excuses:

A twitchy back, a cough, a late night drowning in his juices.

And soon the tragic tale is through and I its mighty hero,

While my flummoxed opponent limps home, feeling like a zero. 

In the bag you go, squash ball, I'll save you for another day,

You've got plenty of nap to keep you till the next time we play. 

God help me if a seam should split you and ruin your facade!

Forever and ever I pray, saints preserve you, please, o god!

Amen!